


cry havoc and let slip

by Mira_Jade



Series: By Chance, By Choice [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: . . . and Natasha knows everything, . . . even if an edge of angst did creep in, Budding Romance, F/M, Family of Choice, Friendship, Gen, In which dad!Hawk is the best Hawkeye there is, Sometimes everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Jade/pseuds/Mira_Jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Even so,” Clint could not help the edge that entered his voice, “if he breaks her heart, I reserve the right to break his face.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	cry havoc and let slip

Officially, Clint came to share his latest batch of baby pictures and snag a babysitter – or two – so that he could take his wife out for their first offspring-free evening since Nathaniel was born.  
  
Unofficially, he slipped out onto one of the metal walkways overlooking the gym below and sat down without making a sound. It was just before noon, which meant that the troops' sparring sessions were in full swing; on one end he could hear Rhodes and Sam going through hand to hand maneuvers with the Captain, while Vision and Wanda were receiving similar instruction from Natasha on the other end.  
  
He could not, he thought with a half smile, decide which group he pitied more as he heard Rhodes call something that sounded suspiciously like _uncle_ and complained that he normally had a suit to do the heavy hitting for him – which, Steve responded amiably, was why winning that round had been a breeze, even without drawing on his enhanced strength and speed.  
  
Shaking his head, Clint breathed in the scene, finding tranquility in a routine he'd known from his childhood with his adopted family, ever preparing for their next show, to the rigors of his military days, to his . . . more unbelievable calling in life now. He closed his eyes and let the sound wash over him in a soothing wave of habit and familiarity. Honestly, he was not always the best at sitting still – which his ongoing family leave no doubt qualified as - and while he welcomed the calm in his life and would eagerly embrace it while it lasted, that did no't mean that he wasn't going to put his hand in the ripples caused by the whirlpool and watch it spin.  
  
After some time passed, he realized that he did not hear Natasha speaking below – just as he heard a familiar footstep whisper across the grating. He turned to see Natasha walking towards him, moving loose and limber, with a slanted expression upon her face that she only wore after a particularly satisfying bout in the training rings. He made a mental note to check Steve for bruises later – super soldier healing or not – knowing that they must have first demonstrated the moves they taught before moving on with their respective students for the day.  
  
Clint did not bother with asking her to confirm his suspicions; he merely shook his head and chuckled. In reply, she sat down next to him without a sound, gracefully folding one leg underneath herself while she let her other leg dangle from the calf down in the empty air. She hooked an arm over the railing in an easy pose, and raised a brow in reply to his amusement, as if daring him to comment.  
  
Her smile was easier than the last time he'd seen her, he thought after a moment's observation, but it was still a small thing that teased at the corners of her mouth, refusing to fully reach her eyes. For a moment, he felt an old, stale anger fill him anew, and he wished that the object of her frowns and dimmed eyes - one of them, at least - was within his striking distance, for – verdant, _angry_ alter-ego or not – he _really_ wanted to -  
  
 . . . but her smile tucked in at its corners, letting him know that she had read his thoughts from his eyes. So he merely frowned, and pushed those musings away for the next time he needed inspiration during target practice.  
  
“Hey, stranger, it's been a long time since we've seen you around these parts,” Natasha finally said. Her voice was lilting and teasing, and he took what she offered him, ready to play along until she could truly make such an easy contentment her own.  
  
“I should be saying the same to you,” he pointed out. “The kids have been asking about you non-stop.”  
  
“So have mine,” Natasha returned, looking down at the burgeoning team below. Her mouth turned slanted on her face, and her eyes glittered. “You've been missed around here.”  
  
“I've been keeping busy.” Clint gave a roll of his shoulders. “Parenthood,” he said sagely, “leaves one with never a dull moment - or a proper night's sleep, at that.”  
  
Natasha snorted in a way that sounded suspiciously like agreement, and he tucked away a smile of his own as he followed her eyes to where she had left Vision and Wanda to continue without her. They made a graceful pair, he thought after a moment watching the oddly inhuman way they each had of moving. They seemingly fit together as two players in a carefully choreographed dance, rippling together as currents in deep water, and they were strangely mesmerizing to watch. The color coordination didn't hurt, either, he thought after a moment - reminded of his circus days, and the thought made him swallow back a chuckle.  
  
“I was actually here to snare Wanda after practice. She is coming to visit for the weekend, and even promised to babysit – it being my first night out with Laura since Nate was born, and all.”  
  
Natasha made an approving noise in the back of her throat that he took as acquiescence for his plan. Since the first time he'd brought the girl home - now almost four months ago - she had an open door extended to her at the farm that she nonetheless had to be assured was _truly_ open. But, Clint reasoned, such was not the first time he'd needed to talk down a girl who was more wounded eyes and animal instincts than anything else, and - as Laura liked to tease him - he doubted it would be the last. In so short a time, Wanda was as much a part of his heart as Natasha and his wife were, and he'd do anything to help her stand on her own two feet once more.  
  
Even so, he took in a breath, and said as nonchalantly as he could, “I was, maybe, going to ask if you wanted to stop in and check on them – you know, only if the world can hold itself together for a day or two without imploding.”  
  
Natasha nodded, understanding what he said even when he didn't say it outright. Finally, she shrugged to answer, “It's been a while since I've had a good run of cartoons. I could be persuaded.”  
  
“Laura promised that there would pie in it for you if you came by,” Clint played his trump card last.  
  
“I've mentioned that I _used_ to be impervious to bribery, right?” Natasha's humor was sharp, and he could see her teeth when she flashed a grin. “You're taking advantage of that, Barton.”  
  
_“Used to,”_ Clint repeated, “I heard the past tense. And I've no scruples about using any angle I can, _Romanova_. You should know that better than most.”  
  
She tilted her head, and her eyes caught on the florescent lighting as they danced from grey to blue and back again. Finally: “Make it apple,” she nodded her head decisively to say.  
  
“Roger that, ma'am,” Clint saluted, and she hid her amusement behind a roll of her eyes as she looked away from him to critically observe the match below. She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed, but he read her approval in the thin line her mouth made.  
  
Curious, he too looked to see where Wanda had finally mastered the head-lock Natasha had taught her, and managed to pin the android by doing so. Vision let her complete the move before using her own momentum against her to reverse their positions, and Clint stiffened when he recognized the moment when Wanda usually went tense with her other teammates – which was usually followed by her falling back on the fail-safe of her powers and removing her opponent by _force_ , complete with wild eyes and red dancing from her fingertips as the unlucky soul who spooked her was doomed to spend the rest of the day on an impressive dosage of migraine meds.  
  
Yet, Wanda merely went boneless in Vision's hold, and he saw where she took in a deep breath and _thought_ , clearing her mind and separating herself from her memories before falling back on the moves that Natasha had been drilling into her. This time, when Wanda turned the tides of the match, Vision did not fight her. When she at last let him go, they were both silent for a long moment . . . and then Wanda smiled, and the expression was wide enough to cut her face in two. Vision said something to her, but Clint could only hear bits and pieces of Sokovian - which he knew but little of - and her smile gave way to a flush as he stood and extended a hand to help her to her feet. Feeling as if there was _something_ he was not seeing, he watched as Vision traced a red thumb in a gentle circle over the fine bones atop Wanda's hand, just as she reached over to briefly trace the upraised pattern of Vibranium skin on the android's cheek. Just barely, he leaned into the affection before her hand fell away – the entire moment was nothing more than a blinking, as obvious as a whisper, and yet . . .  
  
“When,” Clint shaped his words slowly - feeling as a cold, uncomfortable feeling seemingly draped itself over his shoulders, “did _that_ start?”  
  
The look Natasha gave him was much too amused to be called innocent, and he opened his mouth once before closing it with a snap.  
  
Of course, she chose to be obtuse about his question. “There are only a few she can spar with while keeping it a fair fight. She can literally _see_ their intentions before they act, and she does not . . .” but Natasha frowned, and Clint understood what she could not bring herself to say. As an echo of a memory, he recalled standing before Fury and holding his one eyed gaze with an unflinching one of his own to explain: _She d_ _oesn_ _'t do well with others,_ _sir._ _It's a safety measure, a reflex;_ _s_ _he_ _does_ _not understand the idea of partners or a team_ _;_ _she's been watching her own back for so long that she doesn't understand that it's possible to trust her_ _well-being in the hands of a_ _nyone else_ _._ And now, for Wanda, to be only _one_ where she had lived for so long as half of two . . . to accept another – an entire _team_ \- in her brother's place . . .  
  
“He understood her,” was all that Natasha said in conclusion. “He _understands_ her, even.” Her own jaw made a square shape before she relaxed, swallowing away her memories the same as Clint did.  
  
“You don't think it's . . .” Clint waved a hand, unsure how to phrase his thoughts, wondering how their JARVIS slash Ultron hybrid of alien _otherness_ could truly -  
  
“ - he was created; that does not make him anything less than _real_.” For the first time in a long time, Natasha's voice was hard, and Clint blinked at the fervor of her words, taken aback. “It doesn't make what he _feels_ any the less.”  
  
“You _know_ that is not what I was trying to say,” Clint's voice was low to match. “Nat,” he tried to reach her when she did not first meet his eyes . . . for he had suspected before – but only _knew_ now – just how much of herself she saw in the girl she was mentoring . . . the girl she was fast beginning to think of as her friend.  
  
But Natasha finally met his eyes, and sighed to say, “They've been good for each other so far. Steve is aware of the situation too, and we're merely . . . observing for now.” She didn't say anything more, but her eyes were clear, and Clint knew that that was all she would say on the matter. For a moment, he wanted to reach over and take her hand, but he fought the urge, knowing that she'd take what comfort she wanted when she needed it.  
  
Instead, Clint blew out a breath through his mouth. “I'm going to have to make a _no boys_ rule when she stays this weekend now, aren't I?” he complained, focusing on his levity for the situation, rather than the strangely protective urge he felt rising within himself - baring his teeth and impressively showing claws. “I haven't had that issue since the last time we had a local babysitter watch the kids, and that's _not_ a memory I care to revisit now.”  
  
Natasha snorted. “You don't have anything to worry about. Vision's a gentleman.”  
  
But he heard what she _did not_ say, and he made a face at the thought, wondering, with a cool flash of awareness, just how he was going to handle _Lila_ when the day came that a boy came to call, and -  
  
. . . he took in a deep breath, and grounded himself on the tangibility of the world around him: taking in the grating underneath his fingertips and the smooth metal of the railing he leaned against, before focusing on the dancing glow of Natasha's eyes as he'd been trained.  
  
“I'm glad she's happy. The kid deserves it,” he finally said. “I just . . .” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, glaring down at the android as if he were lining up his shot, until, finally, he exhaled. He could not quite find his words again.  
  
But he did not need to. “I know,” Natasha whispered, and she reached over to cover his hand with her own. Just barely, she squeezed, and he moved to sandwich her hand when he placed his second hand atop hers. He did not draw away until she moved to free herself, and then the moment passed.  
  
His staring had been noticed, he next understood as he felt the now tell-tale push of Wanda's thoughts against his own. What once only reminded him of alien blue, all tearing and taking and _possessing,_ was now just her own odd way of communicating - as familiar as Lila tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. Her greeting was accompanied by the barest bit of what he could only describe as the request to _be nice_. Clumsily, he summoned his most innocent thoughts, and watched as Wanda shook her head in amusement down below.  
  
Natasha understood the silent exchange, however, and she was the first to find her feet in a single motion. When she leaned down to give him a hand up, he accepted.  
  
“Even still,” he grumbled, “if he breaks her heart, I reserve the right to break his face.”  
  
“Of course, Barton,” Natasha patted his back to say. “Of course.”  
  
  



End file.
